


Waiting

by wildwordwomyn



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Angst, Friendship, M/M, Pre-Slash, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-13
Updated: 2008-04-13
Packaged: 2017-10-09 14:46:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/88560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildwordwomyn/pseuds/wildwordwomyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Unrequited romantic love tears two best friends apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waiting

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write a story that didn't have a happy ending. That didn't end up with them together. That was angsty and rough and real. This one is told from Jared's POV.

It’s not supposed to be this way. Not at all. You didn’t wake up one morning and say, ‘Think I’m gonna fall so far in love with my straight male co-star/best friend that I can’t imagine loving anyone else,’ and, poof, your wish came true. Because, seriously, who would wish that?! You didn’t mean it. Honest to God. But then he comes over your house with his perfect lips and soft hair and glasses, fucking glasses, and freckles that make him look young and sweet and entirely kissable and…

 

~*~

 

“What’re you doin’, dude?” Chad asks, standing next to you at the latest function, party, whatever. You’re drinking a Sex On The Beach and the irony has not escaped you.

“Huh?” The bar guy offered to make you a drink. If you could name it you didn’t have to pay. If not, well. He didn’t tell you what it was until you were taking your first sip and almost laughed when you choked on his wink.

“You’re mooning,” he remarks with an exasperated sigh.

“Am not,” you snort. The drink is actually pretty good, even if the name is scary, and a great excuse not to let him see the truth in your eyes.

“J-a-r-e-d!” He draws out your name, then grabs your drink and gulps. “Sex On The Beach?! Are you kidding?!”

You wonder what it means that Chad knows the drink’s name when you didn’t. You also wonder why Jen is here with a date. He told you last week he didn’t have anyone in mind. Sandy, who, thank God, had the smarts to break up with you early on but swore to remain friends, promised to be your date. Only Jen had said something about the two of you going stag and you’d jumped (you’re still ashamed of how excited you’d become at the idea) at the chance. Now here he is with some blonde chick half his height, perky and pretty and just right, and you’re drowning your sorrows in a girly drink that used to sport, yup, as if it could’ve sported anything else, a tiny pink drink umbrella.

The umbrella was ditched long ago. “This stuff ain’t bad.” You turn to the bar guy and smile. “Can I get another?” Hell, who cares what it’s called? Will it get you drunk? Yes? Good. By this point Jen’s laughing at something the chick’s whispering up into his ear. “Thanks, man,” you say when he winks again and takes your glass.

“Okay, look,” Chad begins, catching the bar guy’s flirting manner, “there’s something wrong when this dude,” indicating him, “who’s not bad on the eyes, by the way, is begging for your monster truck and gets ignored but that bastard Assles gets your full attention and he’s on the other side of the room!”

“Shuddup,” you mumble, embarrassed. Bar guy raises an eyebrow and smiles humorously at you while Chad, the fucker, rolls his own eyes.

“You’re the one who’s into dick, one particular dick that will never see the light of your day, and I should be quiet?!” You drop your head, cheeks flaming with shame and impossibly more embarrassment. Bar guy looks from you to Chad, his head cocked curiously. “Dude, you’re my boy so it’s my duty to bitch-slap some sense into you when you need it. Now consider yourself slapped…Whatcha gonna do?”

You groan. “I’ma go home, Chad. And I’ma drink myself into oblivion. And then I’ma kill myself. That make you happy?”

You storm off in a more dramatic huff than you intend. See, all you want right now is for Jen to come find you, to make things better, to tell you he’s only been waiting until he was sure…Yeah, so you really do need bitch-slapped. Because now you’re daydreaming that he’s in love with you too, that he won’t go home with that chick and have amazingly hot sex with her and smile secretly at you tomorrow as if it won’t break your heart in two. But what are you supposed to do? Tell him? And have him say, ‘Sorry, Jay, but I just don’t feel that way about you.’ Right. And Superman lives in your back pocket.

 

~*~

 

Jen does not leave his chick and come find you in the parking lot of the studio. Nor does he call or race to your house to see what’s wrong. Chad, who’s still a fucker in your book, calls later to check on you. By the time you hang up your cell you’re shaking your head wearily. Conversations with a certain Mr. Murray can be confusing at best and scary at worst. Tonight’s talk is both. But you do feel a little distracted, which is good. Until you fall asleep at midnight on the living room couch only to have a Jensen-having-sex-with-someone-not-you nightmare. What makes it bad enough to wake you up before you can get off is the fact that he’s giving her this look, this ‘You’re so beautiful’ stare that he has never given you. And it makes you want to cry.

 

~*~

 

“Hey,” he calls the next morning when you slide bonelessly into the pick up van. Bob, the driver, takes off for location, effectively tuning him out in a way that you can’t. “You left the party early.” You stare out at passing scenery. “You sick?” Still no response. “Jay, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you say finally, hoping it’s enough to leave you alone.

“Doesn’t sound like it. Did I do something?” It’s a loaded question and it’s one you’re pretty sure should not be answered while you’re feeling so low you could very easily drown yourself in your bath tub if it wasn’t so damn small.

“Dude, I’m fine. Really. Just got a headache, that’s all.”

“Want me to ask Bob-?” He leans forward to tap Bob’s shoulder.

“No,” you snap harshly, cutting him off mid-question, mid-lean. “Look, it’s just…I’m fine, okay? I’ll be fine.”

You can tell he doesn’t believe you but you breathe a sigh of relief when he doesn’t push it. All day every scene calls for a brooding Sam and today the mood comes easily. Your head fills with memories of time spent with Jen. Memories where you hugged too tight or stood too close or smiled too softly when he looked away from you.

 

~*~

 

The worst part is how easy it is to love him, how normal and honest and real. You have never loved this hard before and you didn’t know anyone could but they do. You do. And no matter how much he asks if you’re okay, no matter how many times he lays an unsure hand on your shoulder, right there at the crook of your neck where the skin has become sensitive to his every touch, what you want more than anything these days is to never have met the man. Because it was inevitable from the moment you met and shook hands. From the moment he looked at you, into you, grinning as if the rest of the world didn’t exist.

But you are an actor. So you act. You act like everything is fine, even when it isn’t and all you can hear is your own inner voice screaming, ‘Get through the scenes!’ Just. Get. Through. Can’t be this way forever right? Right?

Things don’t change, though. Not for you. Weeks pass. Life goes on. Jensen is still Jensen and you’re still Jared. You’re still Jen and Jay. Yet not. For you the sun sets earlier and earlier these days. Vancouver late in autumn. Freezing. Cold. Dry. Solid and somehow breakable at the same time. Fragile. Like thin glass you feel yourself cracking at the edges. No one ever told you losing at love could turn your world so dark, could hurt so much. No one told you about losing. Period. How are you supposed to know how to rise above it? You’ve never lost before at anything. Now when it matters more than anything ever has you’ve been defeated by something bigger, badder, stronger, and it’s done, leaving you lost in its wake.

 

~*~

 

“Jay, please, talk to me!” Wearing nothing but a pair of cut-off sweat pants you’re at your house, feeling nowhere near home, sitting in your black leather chair in front of the tv. The living room is darkness and sounds you’re paying no attention to because the Jen who isn’t yours is at your door. “Will you let me in?” he pleads.

“Fine,” you groan when he bangs so loud you’re afraid your neighbors may start dialing 911. You go back to your chair and settle back in the heat you left behind.

“……Jay?......”It’s a whisper. Soft, sad, desperate. If you look, try to find where it comes from, you won’t be able to hold it in. “Look at me?”

“Can’t,” you reply. Maybe he understands because he doesn’t ask you again.

“What have I done?” You shake your head. Answering is wrong. It’s not the question he should be asking anyway. “…I need to make it better, Jay. How do I make it better?”

Well, there goes the right question. Tumbling from his lips so damn tenderly a tear slips down your cheek involuntarily.

“I…” You try lifting your head and fail. It’s heavy these days. Thoughts of him have weighed it down. “Fuck!” This time you succeed, and wish you hadn’t. He sees it, too close to the surface, unable to remain hidden anymore behind bright eyes and loud laughs.

“Jay?”

When you run he doesn’t follow. Not that you expect him to. It’s only to your bedroom after all. And the bastard’s patient if nothing else. It’s one of the things that make him beautiful to you.

“I’m coming in,” he calls after an hour of silence has passed. And, yeah, you were watching the minute hand on the clock.

That’s all the warning you get. Those three words. Then his body weight drops down beside you on the bed. His smell, musky and outdoorsy and male, drifts around you. An arm snakes around your waist, holding tight.

“I’m sorry. I wish…If I could, Jay, don’t think I wouldn’t jump at the chance. I mean, God, you’re…Everything…Everything to me, Jay. Don’t you know that?”

“No, Jen,” you say hoarsely, emotion taking over your voice, “you’re everything to me. Don’t you know that?!”

You sit up to distance yourself, needing less contact with him. Needing some breathing room if you’re to say what you know you need to say.

“Listen,” you begin, your eyes not wavering from the violent dark purple splash of your comforter. “I’m sorry. I am. But I can’t do this. I just…I can’t be around you and pretend like it’s all okay. I’ve tried and it’s…It’s just too hard, Jen. I…We’ll always be friends, you know? But I need time. Time to get over…I’ll be okay. It’ll just take a while. Okay?” you beg.

Quiet. Shallow breathing. Then, “What about me, Jay? Don’t you think it’s hard for me? You being so…? I miss you!”

“Can’t!” You close your mouth. Anything else is unnecessary. You can’t make the feelings disappear any more than he can make them appear. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. And turn away.

He watches you a second. Studying you. You can feel his eyes on you, wanting to speak, wanting to reach out and fix things, wanting you back. As he leaves he sighs sharply, fearfully, pausing at different points on his way out, waiting for his Jay to call him back. But you don’t. That Jay isn’t here anymore and you’ve lost the energy to say his name without pain, to be the best friend he’s always known, to go after him. To let go. Right now the only thing you can do is hold on and lick your wounds. Once they’ve healed, well, things’ll be good again, just Jay and Jen again. You just gotta wait. That’s all for once. Wait.


End file.
